Before you get all offended just know
both things started out borrowed,
above-board. First was a book investigating
claims of psychic ability, communion
with the dead, and so on, called Lily Dale.
I put my fanciest bookmark in it,
read two thirds, and never finished.
The pastor moved away. That’s one way
to cull your collection. Second,
I saw a man in regards to my ongoing
spiritual distress. He taught me tenets
of Buddhism. One day I reported that
while I was just-breathing, a glass orb
had manifested, an image of my struggle,
or the answer to it—not sure which—
and he handed me his crystal ball.
Sure, it was just a glass ball but by God!
ask and you shall receive!
We had scheduling conflicts
and we both stopped trying to meet.
Weeks later, I realized I’d
purloined it, so I leaned in,
and placed it on my altar. I toyed
with the idea of returning it, but then again
there’s something to be said
for passively robbing clergy.
Maybe that’s how I’ll approach
the sacred from now on:
Haphazardly accruing it over time,
my mouth forming little mischievous o’s
when something I didn’t think was mine
actually sticks.
